Fatherhood is like carpentry,
Crafted with patience and care,
Each piece measured and cut with precision,
To build a home that's strong and fair.

The foundation, a steady base,
A father's love unwavering,
Like sturdy beams that hold up walls,
Through storms and winds unrelenting.

A father's guidance, like a level,
Ensuring every step is straight,
Teaching lessons, shaping character,
Like a master craftsman with every trait.

As children grow and set leave,
Fortified wings are left empty,
He never left until the job was done,
His masterpiece finally won.

So here's to all the fathers out there,
Your dedication, like carpentry,
Is a labor of love that never fades,
And builds a legacy for eternity.

A careful cut, it is the stuff,
Of which our world is made,
Utility and art are fused,
The noblest of the trades,

A sturdy chair of solid wood,
Yet sturdier the heart,
Passion, vision, faithful work,
The noblest of the arts.

For some, poetry comes naturally
But for me its like carpentry

It takes nails, wood, glue, and time
To build these words that hopefully rhyme

In the end I hope these walls survive
So the beauty that lives within will thrive

To grow into ones colorful crest
To inspire fledgling poets building their first nest.

I am building a brace for the front porch
of my brother who is on the other side
of that door listening with headphones
to a recording of Chinese poetry
(in Mandarin, which he understands)
while he is dying, slowly,
brain cell by brilliant brain cell
in that rocking chair
whose joints are creaking,
coming undone.

He no longer remembers his phone number
or how to count change at the grocery store.
He is in denial of any problem
as he grows younger, ever younger
shedding years like snakeskins
while the crack in the porch grows wider, ever wider
so out here in the rain
I set four-by-fours upright as posts,
then I **** four-by-eights as beams
     lifting on my shoulder
     held by my hands
     pushing with my legs
     transferred through my spine
     anchored by my feet
as the useless joists of the deck
drop termite **** onto my eyebrows
like taunts of children:
nya nya you can’t fix this.
But I can brace it for a while.

Long enough, at least
for my brother to forget ten languages.
I will repair that rocking chair.
I will buy diapers, rubber sheets,
install grab bars in the shower.
I won’t let his porch collapse
out here in the rain.
I will cradle these boards
like a baby in my arms.